


Kidnapped

by KinkyGrrlDiane (AnneTaylor)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/KinkyGrrlDiane
Summary: Skinner catches Krycek skulking in the Hoover parking lot. Mulder has gone missing, and Walter is pretty sure Krycek knows where he is. All he has to do is make him tell. But that proves to be a lot more complicated than it seemed at first.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder/Walter Skinner
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Kidnapped

Walter Skinner trudged wearily down the staircase to the third floor of the parking garage.

It had been a long day. A very long day. The Director wanted to know where Mulder was, and he expected answers from his AD. Scully was a continually exploding whirlwind of red-headed indignation. He couldn’t blame her; they both knew who was responsible for Mulder’s disappearance. The only questions were whether he would be returned, and what condition he’d be in when they got him back.

He was so lost in his own private worry fest that he almost missed the furtive shape that slid across the wall behind a camper, and around the corner.

Krycek.

Skinner shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and tried to muffle his steps. Just as he reached the corner, a car approached, throwing Krycek’s shadow out across the cement floor. Skinner whipped around the corner and grabbed.

Krycek jerked, then settled. “Hey, skin-man. Long time no see.”

“Not nearly long enough.” Skinner slammed Krycek’s body against the wall. “Where is he, Krycek?”

“Someplace safe.” Krycek smirked, not particularly alarmed by the gun pressed against his temple. His smile was almost dreamy. “Someplace you’ll never be able to get to, even if I told you where it was. Give it up, Skinner. I’ll return him when I’m finished with him.”

“You son of a bitch!” Skinner snarled, slamming his fist into Krycek’s midsection. Krycek folded up with a cough of pain and doubled over, retching. The sound was music to Skinner’s ears. He reached down and hauled the smaller man up against the wall again and pressed the gun barrel into Krycek’s crotch. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t pull this trigger, Krycek.” His finger caressed the trigger longingly.

Krycek swallowed, his eyes filled with hate. “Because if you do, you’ll never know how he died. Though I can tell you that right now, if you’d like. Dehydration, most likely. Chained to a wall. In the dark. It’s not a nice way to go, believe me.”

“Tell me where he is. Now, Krycek.” He ground the cold metal into Krycek’s flesh, enjoying the man’s grunt of pain with a savage feeling of pleasure that almost shocked him.

“Not a chance, Skinner,” Krycek gasped. A light sheen of sweat glinted on his upper lip. Skinner felt an almost overpowering urge to lean over and lick it off, to taste the salty flavor of Krycek’s fear. “Once you know where he is, I’m a dead man.”

“Maybe. There are lots of ways to die, though. Some of them are a lot more painful than others.” He angled the gun down so that it would be obvious to Krycek that the shot wouldn’t be lethal. Just horribly painful.

Krycek’s eyes closed and his head fell back against the rough cement. “Believe it or not, Skinner, I’ve had things done that hurt a lot worse than anything your bullets can do to me. I’ve been tortured by experts. You can hurt me, Skinner. You can hurt me…” his green eyes opened, and there was something almost like sympathy in them “…but not enough. You’ll break before I will. You’ll listen to me scream, watch my blood pooling on the ground. And you’ll hate yourself for it. There’ll be puke mixing with the blood before you’re done. And at the end of it you won’t have Mulder and I won’t have Mulder and it will all have been for nothing.”

Skinner fought back the gut-clenching wave of despair and nausea at the images Krycek’s words evoked, and at the realization that the bastard was right. _How can he know me so well? Damn him._ He could have shot Krycek if the man had run, maybe even hurt him badly in an interrogation, but there was a limit to how much of his soul he was willing to destroy pursuing something as elusive as truth.

“Let me go, Skinner. Please.” Krycek’s eyes were open, guileless. For just an instant Skinner was reminded of the wide-eyed innocent that he had once thought Krycek to be. “I was cutting things a little too close and that’s why I got careless. I have to get back to him. Soon.”

The rage was draining from him, slipping from him even as he tried to hold on to it. “Why are you doing this, Krycek? What do those bastards you work for want with Mulder?”

Krycek’s eyes skittered away from him, hiding something. “I can’t tell you, Skinner. I know you won’t believe me, but I wish to god I could.”

“I don’t understand.” Skinner wrestled with conflicting emotions, foremost of which was confusion. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“It’s better if you don’t know. Please, Skinner. Let it go. Don’t think about it too much. Walk away. Forget you ever saw me.”

Skinner felt Krycek’s heart hammering against his knuckles. What was Krycek afraid of? Then it came to him, in a flash of intuition so blinding he imagine it must be what Mulder felt like so often. _He’s doing this on his own. He doesn’t want the Consortium to find out he’s got Mulder._ Of course Krycek would know that Skinner was watched. Probably thought the bastards owned him the way they owned Krycek. _If only I could be certain he wasn’t right._

How long had it been since Skinner had seriously tried to rebel against the stranglehold the Consortium had him in? Not since he had reopened the x-files. Oh, he’d made small noises of protest. A hint here. A cover-up there. Mostly, though, he’d just bent over and let them give it to him up the ass. He’d been afraid to push back, knowing that if he did they’d get rid of him and there’d be no one left to protect Mulder and Scully. _Or is that only an excuse? A lame-ass excuse to justify my own cowardice?_

If the smoking bastard owned Skinner, he must have an even worse stranglehold on Krycek. And yet, here he was, risking his life to defy the traitorous cabal that had sold out the entire human race in the vain hopes of saving themselves. Assuming that Krycek wasn’t just selling out his masters for the money, or lying to save his own cowardly skin. _I have to know. If there’s a chance to strike at them, I have to take it._ Skinner steeled himself. _I hope this isn’t the biggest mistake I’ll ever make._ He transferred the gun to his other hand, reached into his pocket and pulled out the pair of handcuffs that no good agent would be without.

“Don’t do this, Skinner.” Krycek lashed out with his prosthesis, catching Skinner a blow that made him wince, but with a practiced motion Skinner snapped a cuff around Krycek’s good wrist and then clapped the other onto his own left wrist. “You stupid fuck!” Krycek snarled desperately. “I don’t have time for this. You’re killing him, Skinner.”

“Watch very carefully, Krycek.” Skinner deliberately took a small key from his pocket, tipped his head back slightly and popped the bit of metal into his mouth, grimacing at the taste as he swallowed. His eyes flicked back to Krycek’s and he almost laughed aloud at the appalled look of utter shock on the man’s face. “Unless you’re willing to gut me for the key, we’re going to be really close for the next twelve hours or so.” Suddenly the full implications of what he’d just done came crashing down on him. Twelve hours handcuffed to Alex Krycek. Oh god, could he have come any closer to hell on earth than this?

Krycek gave a weak, halfhearted laugh. “If you could only see your face,” he muttered. “Look, Skinner, this has got to be the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever done. We’ll stop by a hardware store and buy a hacksaw and get us both out of this.”

Skinner considered that for a moment. “Fine. Hacksaw is good. But we don’t use it until I see Mulder.”

“I don’t think you’ve really thought this through, Skinner.” Krycek gave him a look of pure exasperation. “I’m not just talking about the humiliation of having to share an ass-wipe with one of your worst enemies.”

“What are you talking about, then?” That had been the worst thing he’d come up with.

“I didn’t stash him just around the corner, Skinner. It’s a long drive.”

“So? I assume you have a car.”

“Who’s driving?”

“I am, I guess.”

“Really? And where do you plan to stash me while this is going on?”

“Right beside me in the…” Skinner cursed under his breath, seeing what Krycek was getting at. He’d cuffed the man to his left wrist. Not that he’d had a choice about which wrist to use. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Guess you drive then,” he said, aware that he sounded sullen.

“I only have one arm, Skinner, and you’re cuffed to it. I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to have survived this long only to die in a stupid traffic accident, handcuffed to a moron who doesn’t know any better than to…”

“Shut up, Krycek! You’ll manage. Now quit whining and let’s go find your car.”

“Fucking hell. I am so going to make you regret this, Skinner.” There was a glint of evil malice in Krycek’s eyes. “We’ll take your car.”

“Why?”

“My car is a fucking stick shift.” Krycek shoved Skinner aside and strode past him, yanking Skinner in his wake.

Skinner planted his legs and braced, pulling Krycek up short with a shock that jarred both their wrists painfully.

“Fuck!”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re running this show, Krycek.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m not.”

“This,” Skinner patted the gun in his pocket, “and the fact that I’ve got about twenty pounds of fighting trim on you. Not to mention the free arm. Or the fact that I can have federal agents swarming all over your ass with one simple phone call.”

“I guess your aces trump my jack, Skinner. Or they would if we were playing poker. It’s still my deck of cards, though. If you want to play, you’ll play my game, by my rules.”

“The hell I will.”

“Then you’ll lose, Skinner. I’m not threatening you, I’m just warning. You have no idea where we’re going, or who will be there waiting. Either you’re with me and you’ll stay safe, or you’re a walking target.”

“You’re a liar, Krycek.”

“Well, that goes without saying.” Krycek’s lip curled. “But I’m a very **good** liar, Skinner. If I really honestly cared which way you’re going to jump, I would have been a lot more persuasive.”

“Why are you bothering, then?”

Krycek shrugged. “Innate sense of fair play? Or maybe just because it will be so much more satisfying to watch you choke on something after I told you not to put it in your mouth. Or maybe it’s all a bluff and I’m just fucking with you.”

“That sounds like the most likely of the three.”

“Whatever. Your choice, Skinner.”

Something in the man’s easy shrug told Skinner that Krycek was truly not worried over the outcome of the choice he was supposedly giving Skinner, and that more than anything made Skinner wonder if Krycek might not be telling the truth. For once.

“So, what the hell does that mean? Playing your game? What is your game, Krycek?”

“You’re not the only one who’d like to know, Skinner. The walls have ears, and so do parking garages. C’mon.” Krycek started down the stairs, and this time Skinner allowed himself to be towed in Krycek’s wake. The man moved with a graceful wariness, despite being handicapped by his unwanted partner. He scanned the bottom of each set of stairs, as well as the floors above, before rounding each level turn. “Get your gun out,” he hissed angrily to Skinner as he paused with his hand on the door handle of the sub-basement floor, and Skinner complied, more because his own hackles were raised than because he trusted Krycek’s judgement.

Krycek opened the door noiselessly and slid through, scowling when Skinner let the door shut behind them with a click that resounded in the silence. The floor was dimly lit, and only half a dozen cars could be seen. Krycek led them along a strangely roundabout path, keeping to the shadows for the most part, occasionally stopping to cock his ear and listen intently.

Finally they reached a nondescript, rather battered looking sedan, which Krycek unlocked.

“I thought we were taking my car,” Skinner whispered. “I can certainly see why you’d prefer it to this.”

“Fuck you, Skinner.,” Krycek whispered back. “My other car is a Harrier. Anyway, I’m saving all the money I get for killing people so I can retire to the Bahamas some day. Lean in there and pop the trunk release.”

Skinner gritted his teeth. _Little bastard is just enjoying being able to give me orders entirely too much_. He shoved his gun back into its holster and leaned down, feeling around for the release lever, privately admitting that it made more sense for him to be doing it than Krycek.

The trunk was as battered looking as the rest of the car, filled with mildewing cardboard boxes and papers that curled and stuck together as Krycek rooted through them. Skinner allowed his arm to be jerked about as Krycek searched, mainly because the only alternative would have been to do it himself. “What the fuck are you looking for?” he grumbled quietly. “Anything of value in this junk pile will have rotted away by now. Or crawled away.”

“Aha! Here it is.” Krycek dragged a dirty, faded box out from a mostly disintegrating paper bag. “Close it up, quietly, and let’s get out of here.”

Skinner complied, gritting his teeth at Krycek’s peremptory manner. He took the lead as they headed to Skinner’s car, lengthening his strides, disappointed that Krycek seemed to be able to keep up effortlessly.

It was easy enough to unlock the door, but then Skinner was faced with a decision. He really didn’t want Krycek driving with only one hand, handcuffed to Skinner. But where could he stash Krycek? If he made him climb over the seat, the handcuffs could lock them together beside the seat. He could watch Krycek in the mirror. But the better view he could maintain of Krycek the more warning he’d have of any treachery.

“Get in.” Skinner slid in awkwardly after Krycek, the handcuff tugging at his arm, which was now pulled tightly across his gut. He started the car. “Where to?”

“North. Get on the 270, then highway 70 to Hagerstown. From there, north on 81 to Harrisburg. From there, north on 22. Wake me when we get to Lewiston.” Krycek leaned the seat back, made himself as comfortable as he could and closed his eyes. In the glare of the morning light, Skinner could see the purple circles that cradled his eyes. His lips were cracked and his breathing seemed too rapid. Dehydration, it looked like, and lack of sleep.

What the hell. I can beat the shit out of him later. Let him sleep for now. Skinner pulled out of the parking lot and headed north.

**Author's Note:**

> One of my slightly larger works. There will probably be a couple more chapters.


End file.
